WOULD it surprise you to hear, that part of the Canon of Holy Scripture was written in a convict station?
Such however is the actual fact, though the convict penman was no criminal guilty of any misdemeanor against the laws of his land. On the contrary, he was a “holy man of God” who wrote as he “was moved by the Holy Ghost.” The inspired convict thus honored, tells us that the reason for his being in this gloomy captivity was on account of “the testimony of Jesus Christ.”
The apostle John―for it was he―had lain on the bosom of the Lord Jesus, and the revelation of His love produced an outflow from his heart that nothing afterward could stop. Twice over, the Sanhedrim had threatened him, and commanded him not to preach any more in the Name of Jesus.
It was a terrible risk, in those days, to ignore the decision of that angst Council with its 71 members, but John treated with quiet disdain anything that interfered with the claims of God, and replied that he could not “but speak what he had seen and heard.”
The high priest next tried whether prison would more effectively silence him, but an angel upset this foolish action, by opening the gaol doors and bringing John out into freedom once more. When he was arraigned the second time before the Sanhedrim. Council, the high priest then prescribed “beating” as a curative, but we find John and the other apostles only “rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer” for their Lord. Not for a day did they stop speaking of the Saviour.
The despotic Emperor was in a quandary. Here was a man on whom threatenings, beatings, and imprisonments had no effect, and on whose account angelic ministry interfered. What could be done to such a one? His next expedient was banishment to the dreary Isle of Patmos. Patmos is a bare unfertile sea-girt rock in the Grecian Archipelago. The Roman Emperors had turned it into a place of compulsory residence for outlaws, desperadoes, and for those men whose violent conduct made them a menace to civilization. Thither was the beloved Apostle banished. To some natures, solitary isolation is worse than bodily suffering. But Domitian’s calculations had overlooked the fact, that while the galley ship conveyed into exile many characters undesirable for intercourse with the world in general, when John went on board there accompanied him the Son of God.
John was gladdened at Patmos with a vision of his glorified Master such as no other human eyes have ever beheld, and into his ears were poured secrets of future events, that no other mortal had ever heard. The Emperor Domitian had no idea of the gain that would accrue to the whole Church of God through his cruel edict. Patmos was no loss to John, and the blessing of it has descended to us through all the ages.
It is useless to put God’s nightingales into a cage. The pressure from below only forces the sound of their joyous song to greater exuberance. What restriction were the confines of a prison wall to a man meditating on the wonders of Calvary, of which he had been an eye witness? In spite of brutal gaolers, and the convict-herd that surrounded him, his soul bubbles over in adoration, “Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and His Father, to Him be glory and dominion forever and ever.”
John was well versed in the ceremonial ritual of the Law, with its ceaseless offerings of sacrifices, but his eyes had rested on Jesus, God’s Paschal Lamb, and for him thenceforth, all ordinances are things superseded. As he wrote this wondrous book of the Revelation, he refers to the Lord Jesus as “the Lamb,” no less than 25 times. John had retraced his steps on the dark day of the Crucifixion, and had seen the Lamb of God in His dying agony on the Cross. When our blessed Substitute had been “made sin,” “made a curse,” and been forsaken of God, John had stood so near the shameful Cross, that he had been able to hear a message for himself from the parched lips of the Saviour. John had heard that agonized cry, “My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?” and he had seen the soldier’s spear bring forth the cleansing stream of blood.
“Yes, he had seen Him, should John not remember?
Yes, he had heard Him, and should John forget?”
No power of emperor or demon can silence the adoration of his grateful heart. How the song of the nightingale trills! “To Him be glory forever and ever.” Not one word about his own deprivations; not a single expression of indignation against the injustice of his treatment; no call for vengeance on his cruel persecutors; no complaints as to his prison fare; no rebellion at the forced companionship of goal birds; no petition for his rights; no, none of these. John’s heart is full of Christ and his soul utters its praise. He “loved”... He “washed”... and He “made,” and the cost of it all, was “His own blood.”
No Mediterranean waves could drown his song! No Euroclydon wind could blow away those mighty chords of praise. Its melody has reverberated from continent to continent all over the world during, the last two thousand years. Today the echo of that peerless doxology in Patmos is sounding in millions of hearts. “To Him that loved us... to Him be glory and dominion forever and ever.” Two millenniums of years have passed, but in lowly adoration our hearts add to that paean of worship, our own glad “Amen.”
E. R. M.